To Be A King's Son
by Bronze Cat
Summary: A young man is to take his oaths of fealty and lordship to his King but his mother is no ordinary woman. She is the Shieldmaiden of the North and she carries with her more secrets than scars on her body. And the Queen can see one of the secrets as clear as day in the young man's eyes. A tale of family, loyalty and the tales swallowed by the deserts of Harad.
1. Hazel Eyes

**AN: This is a short sequel to my fic _The Shieldmaiden of the North_ but I hope it makes sense to anyone who hasn't read that story. Enjoy!**

* * *

The young prince of Rohan climbed the sentry tower and peered across the Plains. His hazel eyes fell upon the herd of mearas cantering across the grass in the distance and his heart twisted in fear. One of them was meant for him but which one?

A pair of boots thumped across the boards of the tower behind him.

"Stop worrying, he will find you. You just need to have faith," his father said, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. He didn't answer. "Elfwine," his father added, a more stern note to his voice. "You must stop this incessant moping. It's affecting your training and your mother has noticed. I don't want her worrying about you on top of everything else."

"Yes, Father," Elfwine said obediently.

They paused for a moment, the two of them enjoying the morning sun. Éomer looked out across the Plains.

"That's odd, we weren't expecting him for a few more months," he said to himself and left his son. Elfwine peered at the Rider approaching the city. He grinned when he saw the familiar dark hair and scrambled after his father to greet the new arrival.

"Hail, Éomer King!" the newcomer called in his strange rolling accent as his horse trotted into the courtyard in front of Meduseld.

"Greetings to you, Cahal!" Éomer called back. "We weren't expecting you so early in the year. Has something happened?"

"No, sire. But something is going to happen," Cahal said as he dismounted. "My brother will be turning eighteen shortly and he will come into his birthright as Lord of the Wold. Mother asked me to ride to you to request that he takes his Oaths in the Golden Hall."

Éomer's brow furrowed. "Yes, I don't see why not," he said slowly. "But why your younger brother? I always assumed your mother meant for you to take the Lordship."

"I'm not Mother's child by blood," Cahal grinned. "I couldn't be Lord even if I wanted to; you know how much of a stickler we are for tradition and protocol in the North, sire. There is no way that Mother could convince our people to accept me as Lord."

Elfwine listened to this exchange with some confusion. He was aware that Cahal's mother was from one of the ancestral lordships although he had never seen the woman in his life. He knew that Cahal had a younger brother because he often told stories of their adventures together but he had assumed that as the elder, Cahal would be the one to inherit the lordship. Yet here he was, four and twenty years of age and freely giving the power to his eighteen year old brother!

"If that is what your mother wishes, I don't see why not. Do you require an escort?" Father was asking as they climbed the steps of Meduseld.

"Oh no. There will only be eight of us and after all, six of us are warriors. Anything we meet shall be more than a match for anything that wishes to attack us!" Cahal said cheerfully. "Besides, nowt much in Rohan will attack a party of five men and three women any longer!"

Elfwine halted as he followed them. Only five men? How could they possibly have six warriors?

What strange people the Northerners must be.

* * *

Some months later, a small party rode the long distance from the Fortress down to Edoras.

As they caught the first glimpse of the city in the distance, the woman leading them was jerked from her thoughts by the voice of her eldest son.

"Mother?"

She turned to look at him and smiled. He brought his own horse alongside hers and gave her a concerned look.

"Mother, are you well? You seem to have become more withdrawn the closer we get to Edoras," he asked. She returned his gaze. From the bright blue eyes that they both shared, many assumed that they were blood. In reality, he was just an orphan she had adopted.

"I am merely worried, that is all, Cahal," she said.

"What do you have to be worried about?" he asked.

"It is nearly nineteen years since I saw the King. Times were different then. There was a war, we were young and foolish. We are different people now."

"Is that all?"

"No. I... I'm worried about what he will think of Eadric."

They turned in their saddles to look at her only blood child. Eighteen years old, he rode his horse with a carefree arrogance that reminded her of herself at that age, his golden hair streaming in the wind.

"He is going to be the Lord. He will take both the Oath of the Riders and the Lord's Oath in the Golden Hall. In times of need he will be required to sit upon the Council. All this responsibility was his before he was even born and now he has to accept it without question. The King knows this but I don't think he understands it," she said.

"I think it is more than that," her other son said. He leaned closer to his mother. "The King is Eadric's father, isn't he?" he asked and saw in her panicked glance all the truth he needed.

"No-one can know, Cahal. Promise me that you will not breathe a word, even to Eadric," she hissed.

"Yes, Mother. I promise," he said. She relaxed and blew out a shaky breath.

"Now we just have the other problem," she said and they turned to look at her.

"You should have just left her at the Fortress," Cahal said grumpily, turning forwards again.

"And we both know that would never happen," his mother replied.

* * *

Queen Lothíriel was in a thoughtful mood. She had always been intrigued by the mysterious Lady Ailith, one of the two Shieldmaidens of Rohan. She had not been present at Lothíriel and Éomer's wedding, nor at the presentation of Elfwine and their other children to the court, instead spending all of her time at her home in the North. Occasionally a Rider by the name of Cahal came to give reports. Yet her husband and her sister-in-law spoke very highly of her, as did some of the veteran Riders. Others did not speak so highly of her.

As she swept through her home and joined her husband and family on the steps of Meduseld, her mind turned to this unknown woman and the three entities presented to the Queen.

The first was Ailith the Shieldmaiden. Despite the undeniably feminine nature of the other Shieldmaiden, Ailith somehow conjured up a decidedly masculine and fearsome woman who ruled the Northern provinces of Rohan with an iron fist. A woman who was never seen without her armour or weapons and who rode into battle with confidence and pride.

The second was Ailith the Healer. A kindly matron who, if the stories were to be believed, gave her all to her patients and strived for a whole night to attempt to prevent the death of Prince Théodred.

The third was the woman that was spoken of with great disdain. Ailith, the Mother of Bastards. A coy woman who ensnared lonely men. A woman of few morals.

The woman who led the party was not any of these personifications. She was not some strange hulking figure with a build to rival Éomer's but a woman whose slight build was discernible even under her armour. Her face was not openly inviting nor warm but instead had an odd almost regal quality. The thin scar above her brow and the handful of white hairs coming through at her temples did not so much detract from her appearance as enhance it. She was neither beautiful nor particularly plain. Average at most.

She dismounted and bowed respectfully. Her companions did the same.

"Lady Ailith, welcome back to Meduseld," Éomer said formally. She inclined her head again.

"It is good to be back," she said warmly. "And my greetings to you, my Queen, I am sorry that so many years have passed without our meeting."

Lothíriel nodded quickly, a bit thrown. She hadn't expected to be addressed so openly. She saw Ailith's eyes slide over her children and she fought the urge to gather them to her like a mother hen.

"Your birth place is very beautiful. I had the privilege of visiting Dol Amroth on my travels," Ailith continued and then glanced over her shoulder at her seven companions waiting behind her patiently.

"Éomer, you already know my adopted son Cahal as my envoy. And you remember my Captains, Folcred and Grimfast?"

The grizzled veteran who, to Lothíriel, looked like every other veteran in the Golden Hall jerked his head respectfully in their direction, as did the hulking Beorning.

"Folcred's daughter, Ailith," Ailith continued a little sheepishly. The girl who bore her name smiled prettily and bobbed a curtsey from where she stood close to her father.

"And Beleg!" the other man added. Ailith shut her eyes.

"Of course, how could I forget," she said drily. "My cousin Beleg, my companion on my travels and kin to King Elessar through his father's blood."

The Dúnadan winked roguishly at the Queen and one of the young Princesses behind her giggled nervously. Her chuckles were instantly quelled by a glance from her mother.

"And finally we have my son and heir, Eadric," Ailith said. She stretched out a hand behind her and her son stepped forward to face the Royal couple.

Lothíriel had the strange sensation of falling backwards. The lad was undeniably handsome and stood a good few inches above his mother. His golden hair could be from any man in the Riddermark but she only knew of two who shared his strong and confident hazel gaze. The man who stood beside her and her own son.

Her eyes met Ailith's and she saw the fear shrouded in those bright blue eyes. Oh yes, she knew exactly who had fathered her child.

"A fine son," Éomer approved and she turned her head to look at him. Nothing. Not a spark of recognition. The fool, she fumed. He could not see what was right in front of him if it ran up and screamed in his face.

"That is only seven," she said with feigned courtesy. "I was informed that your party was eight in total."

A flash of surprise flittered across Ailith's eyes and then her face twisted into open worry.

"Please," she said. "Don't react badly. I know there is some bad blood between our people but she is innocent in that whole ugly affair."

She turned and said something in a strange, harsh tongue. A slight figure slipped between Grimfast and Folcred and approached them nervously. A pair of gloved hands pushed the hood of her cloak back and small gasps echoed through the watching crowd.

The straight black hair; the clever, dark eyes; the skin tanned by generations under the desert sun. The girl before them was Haradic. And the Rohirric campaign to pacify Harad had cost many lives and caused a deep enmity between the two races.

She bobbed a curtsey to the King and Queen, her eyes flicking nervously between them and Ailith.

"My, you are a pretty one," Lothíriel said diplomatically. "What are you doing so far from your country?"

She bit her lip, her glance towards Ailith plaintive. Ailith nodded encouragingly.

"Tell them, Sabirah," she said.

"Rohan is my country now," Sabirah told the Queen in perfect but slightly accented Rohirric.

"You do not want to return to your country of birth?" Lothíriel said. Sabirah shook her head, her eyes wide in shock, and then said the worst thing she could possibly ever say. The one thing Ailith had been hoping she would never say.

"Oh, no! A good slave never runs from her mistress!"

* * *

**I could really use some names for the Princesses, even though they are not going to really be featured, so if anyone wants to name them then feel free. :D Thanks for reading, the next chapter should be up soon.**


	2. Intentions

"Why did you say it?" Ailith asked exasperatedly. Sabirah sniffed and lifted another of her mistress's dresses out of their saddlebags.

"By my birth-culture, you own me," she replied. "I am your property, I am your slave."

"Yes, but we don't have slaves in Rohan. It reflects badly upon me," Ailith sighed, sinking onto her bed. Folcred's daughter, also named Ailith, sniggered from the corner where she was sorting through another saddlebag. "Aifea," Ailith said sternly, using the girl's nickname, "this is a serious matter. Eadric has to be accepted by the court and the other lords and nothing can mar his image!"

The younger girl didn't respond, instead smirking to herself as she worked. Ailith stopped cleaning her armour and walked over to her.

"I brought you here to learn a little decorum. Your father is far too soft on you," she said softly to her. "You must learn to respect your elders, starting with myself and my children."

"Yes milady," Aifea replied. Ailith dumped a stack of neatly folded shirts in her arms.

"Take these along to Beleg," she said. Aifea stood and glided from the room.

They had been housed in the Eastern wing of the Golden Hall. It was much larger and grander than anything Aifea had ever seen before. As her father was Captain of the Wold Riders, her family occupied a few rooms in the Fortress itself but it wasn't much. She'd grown up sharing a bed with her older sister Folcra. Although she would be sharing a room with Sabirah here, the bed was much larger and softer than anything she had slept in before.

She paused and curtseyed when she saw her Queen walking towards her. Lothíriel regarded the young girl carefully.

"They call you Ailith as well, is that right?" she asked. The girl curtseyed again.

"Yes, your majesty. That is my name but I go by Aifea to avoid confusing with my lady," she explained.

Lothíriel's lips moved as she thought about this. "_Ai_ from your name and _fea_ meaning little?" she asked. Aifea nodded.

"I was born prematurely and I've always been on the small side," she said. Yes, Lothíriel could see that she was on the small side. She could also see that she was very pretty for her age. This one would be worth watching closely.

"I see you have chores to be getting on with; I won't keep you," she said. Aifea curtseyed for a third time, this time a bit awkwardly, and hurried off. Lothíriel watched her go, slightly amused. The girl had clearly been a little uncomfortable in her presence and the Queen was hardly an intimidating figure. She chuckled slightly as she imagined Aifea coming under the beady scrutiny of Lothíriel's Aunt Irviniel. Then the girl would squirm.

She hesitated before she knocked on Ailith's door. It was probably polite to announce her presence instead of barging straight in. The door opened to reveal the Haradic girl. Her eyes widened and she too bobbed a curtsey before saying a few words of her harsh mother-tongue over one shoulder.

"Common Tongue or Rohirric when we have company, Sabirah," Ailith's voice said from inside the room. "Let the Queen enter and then you are excused."

Sabirah stood aside. As Lothíriel passed, she noticed a curious metal collar fastened around the girl's neck but before she could have a closer look Sabirah had left. She turned her attention to the other woman in the room and steeled her mind in preparation for why she had come here.

Ailith had changed from her armour into a simple red dress. She had stood and bowed respectively when Lothíriel had entered and was now waiting patiently for her to speak. Garbed this way, with her hair pulled off her hair in a simple braid and her armour lying behind her on the bed, Lothíriel could see Ailith for what she truly was; just a woman. She was not some great warrior or lord to be feared; she was a woman of flesh and blood, just as Lothíriel was. Courage flowed through her veins and she raised her chin defiantly. Her blood was the blood of Numenor; she was a Princess of Dol Amroth and a Queen of Rohan. This woman may belong to one of the ancestral houses of Rohan but she was nothing compared to Lothíriel.

"I came here to ask what designs you have upon my son's throne," she said in an icy tone.

Shock flashed momentarily across Ailith's features and were then replaced with a mild cautiousness.

"None," she said.

That threw Lothíriel. She had not known what to expect but certainly not that. Did Ailith really not want to see her son on the throne? Did she have no ambition?

"Hmph. I have heard tales of the political games played by the courts of Gondor but I never thought to find them here. We prefer less elaborate ploys," Ailith said slowly. "I have no desire to see my son on the throne. And even if I did, there is nothing I could do to make him King."

"But, but," Lothíriel stumbled, her cool demeanour falling instantly, "he's Éomer's eldest son!"

Ailith raised her eyebrows. "I thought you had noticed. But Elfwine is Éomer's eldest true-born son. As far I'm concerned, Eadric has no father. He has a mother and from his mother he gets a name, a family and a duty. He needs no father."

"Has he not asked?" the Queen asked.

"No. He is content with the life we have given him at the Fortress."

"Really?"

"I swear to you, one mother to another."

Her face and tone were so impassive that Lothíriel could not discern if she was being truthful or not.

"But, your son would be King. You would be the most powerful woman in the land; a Queen in all but name," she exclaimed. Ailith shrugged.

"If I wanted to be Queen then I would have said yes when Éomer asked me," she said mildly. Once again, Lothíriel had that strange sensation of falling backwards. She inwardly cursed herself. It was foolish to think that she had been her husband's only love; a naive little girl's dream. Just because she had done little more than flirt and exchange innocent kisses in the gardens of Dol Amroth before her courtship with Éomer didn't mean that he had been the same.

"When?" she mumbled. A frown appeared on Ailith's face.

"Oh, long before he met you," she said sympathetically. "And he loves you more than he ever loved me, I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you. What I had with Éomer lasted little more than a month; it was a time of War, we were both lonely in our own ways and we just sort of snapped together for a while."

She smiled, a good-natured smile that was honest and completely open. "All I want is to get these few short days over and done with, see my son take his rightful place as a lord and then return to the Wold where you need not see us ever again if it pleases you. I swear to you, I have no other motivations."

* * *

Dinner that evening was a slightly awkward affair. Ailith was seated with Éomer and Lothíriel at the High Table, as was her cousin Beleg. Lothíriel was struggling to discern their relationship fully. They evidently respected each other greatly but there was a mutual camaraderie, a quiet companionship they enjoyed that Lothíriel usually saw in old veterans who had fought alongside each other in countless wars and battles.

Ailith's own veterans were sitting with the other Riders and the younger members of her party were seated with the Royal children. Lothíriel often found her eyes straying towards where Eadric and Elfwine were deep in discussion. They were not far apart in age and they seemed to have become friendly in the few hours since Eadric had arrived. She wondered how much Eadric truly knew. Just because his mother had no ambitions for him did not mean he did not harbour them himself.

Her attention was distracted by the Haradic girl sitting close to Cahal and Eadric. It was hard not to notice her; her dark hair and olive skin stood out amongst the blondes and red-heads even more than Cahal and Elfwine's Gondorian colourings. Even from here, she could see the girl's strange collar and she wondered what on earth it was for.

"Your maidservant, Sabirah," she said to Ailith, "what is that around her neck?"

Ailith winced. "Oh, that. Sabirah, my sweetling, come here," she called. "Show the Queen your collar."

Sabirah approached the High Table shyly and extended her elegant neck so Lothíriel could clearly see her collar. It was more of a choker than a collar; made of twisted gold and mithril.

"A dwarf we befriended made it for us. I didn't want him to put mithril on it in case it attracted bandits but he insisted," Ailith said.

"I am proud to wear such a beautiful collar! Much better than the leather thing I used to wear!" Sabirah announced proudly.

"That's true," Ailith agreed as Sabirah made her way back to her seat. "She used to wear little more than a leather band around her neck. I tried to make her stop wearing it but she insisted so I had a better fitting one made."

"Why do they wear them?" Éomer asked. "We saw plenty of people wearing collars during the campaign, mainly women but occasionally men."

"It's a mark of ownership. Occasionally a man will be a slave but it is usually just the women. I met one woman who was first owned by her father, then her brother when her father died, then her husband and finally her son when her husband died," Ailith said. There was silence as she sipped from her cup and she looked around to see Éomer and Lothíriel staring at her.

"Women are owned?" the Queen asked shakily.

"In a manner of speaking. Some considered it to be an actual ownership, others just a formality; I believe in the areas of Near-Harad close to the border with Gondor it has been completely abolished but in the Great Desert the practice is alive and well. I knew another widow who was owned by her son but there was no doubts at all who was the head of the family."

Beleg's face blanched and he took a large gulp from his tankard. "Terrifying woman," he agreed. "Still, I gained a meagre amount of respect from her for owning as marvellous a woman as you."

Éomer choked on his food. "Beleg owned you?"

"Of course he did! I wore a collar too!" Ailith replied loftily. "If I didn't then someone would have tried to claim me and the whole situation would have been very embarrassing."

"Why don't you just tell them how we got Sabirah?" Beleg asked. "That is what you have been angling for with this entire conversation and it is our best story."

Ailith glared at him but then sighed and laid down her knife. It was indeed her best story. And it was the only one she was comfortable telling.

_The desert sun beat down upon them as they rode into the small town. They dismounted by the fountain in the town square and let their horses drink the water; they had been in the Great Desert for many moons and the Barren Hills still lay between them and the Gondorian-Harad borders._

_"Hey, pretty lady! Pretty lady with hair of gold!" a voice shouted. Ailith looked across to one of the little shops and saw a wiry Haradic man brandishing material at her. "Come see, come see! Silks, cottons, only the best!" he called haltingly in the Common Tongue. She walked over to his shop and surveyed the fabrics with a critical eye. When she looked unsure, he hastily added, "I have more! Lace from the Kalb tribe of the Great Desert! Very fine!" He turned and shouted in Haradic and a young girl of about six hurried out of the shop with swathes of materials in her arms. She heaved them onto the table and cowered as the shop owner said something else to her and raised his hand as if to strike her. As he turned back to Ailith, all smiles and smarm again, the little girl glanced up at the older woman. Her eyes were completely devoid of the spark of life. She scratched at her leather collar and Ailith's heart twisted as she saw the red lines against her neck where the collar dug in._

_"How much for the girl," Ailith asked, interrupting the shopkeeper's careful sales pitch. He faltered and glanced at the girl with disdain. _

_"You don't want her. She lazy, she sad all the time."_

_"I do want her. Name your price."_

_"Gold. If you take body from me, I want gold for troubles," he said slyly. _

_Ailith glared at him. They had no gold. They bought goods through bartering when they needed them; it was too dangerous to carry money around. Bandits and brigands hid between the dunes and occasionally one heard of ambushes by rival tribes. She and Beleg both carried marks of protection from the Chief of Tribe Chiefs but what if they weren't noticed until their life blood was soaking into the sand of the Great Desert? No, it was safer to forget about the gold. But now she had no means to save this poor child..._

_A thought occurred to her._

_"What about my hair? My hair is made of gold," she said. He nodded greedily. _

_"Yes, yes. You give me hair of gold, I give you girl."_

_She drew her dirk and quickly cut the long length of her hair off until it was a few inches long. She handed it to him and he shoved the little girl towards her. He said something in Haradic as he ran the tresses through his fingers. The girl nodded and took Ailith by the hand._

_Ailith paused and then picked her up and moved quickly but discreetly towards her horse. _

_"We have to go," she said to Beleg as she sat the girl in her saddle and mounted behind her. He groaned and frowned at her._

_"What have you done? How long do we have, this place looks nice!" he moaned. _

_Ailith looked back at the little shop. The owner was getting very excited; barking and waving the hair at his wife as she fetched a pot and stoked a small fire._

_"However long it takes hair to burn," she said._

Éomer roared with laughter and pounded on the table and even Lothíriel couldn't help but chuckle.

She looked towards the Haradic girl sitting with her and Ailith's children and smiled. Her smile faded slightly as she saw the other girl from the Fortress approach them, the one they called Aifea. She flicked her blonde hair and leaned toward Eadric, a wicked little gleam in her eyes. That was a gleam that Lothíriel had seen many a time; the gleam of a girl who knew she was desirable and knew exactly how to use it.

Her smile faded completely when she saw Elfwine's expression. He was gazing at Aifea with a peculiar expression that his mother usually only saw when her son was with Princess Náriel of Gondor.

Yes, that pretty girl was, at this moment in time, more of a threat to her son than Eadric could ever be.


End file.
